Her remark pulls Darras' attention now to her, like resurfacing. Under the water, the deeper you go, the darker it gets, until everything is dark around you. And you forget what light looks like. Not the dull glow of the door or the undersea light that shimmers on the faces of the ghost-pale specters. A true light, like. It's whatever moonlight manages to push through the thick grown storm clouds. It's Yseult, sitting beside him.
"What happened next, is--" His usual prompt is like a thread to follow home, like in the story she'd read to him, once. Out of that box of books he'd brought her. A child's tale. A string tied to a bedpost, and through the mirror, the other land, but as long as the string stayed, there was always a way back. Darras squeezes her hand back, and a little warmth bleeds back in. More like the cottage in the sunshine. Less like the hole.
"It was only a day and we'd worked out an escape. We thought it was an escape. One of Masud's men, bribed, and then double-crossed us, and Masud knew about it, the whole time. He let it all play out just t' make a point. We were caught and-- So we were to be punished, then, as if there was anything worse than being sold. Not killed or beaten, no more'n we'd already been, for daring to escape. Masud was a sadistic bastard. There was this--island, sort of. Not a proper island. All flinty rock, and a hole in it. A cave, more like. The tide would come in and swell in it, from the bottom, fill it nearly up. Waves, crashing down from the top. Then the tide would go out again. Regular, natural. All manner of creatures would come in with it, too, and that's where Masud left us. Bane and Donal and Morton and Jerrick and me. Down there, no food or water, chained and bound. He'd come back for us, he said. When we were done fighting. Only he never did. We told each other he was dead and felt a little warmer for it, but it didn't last. And he wasn't dead. I knew he wasn't dead. Twisted fucking snake. They're the ones who died."
Donal, then Morton, then Jerrick and an hour later, Bane. The clank of their chains is this far-off sound, an echo like they're deep down in that hole and Darras is stood outside. But that's true, isn't it. In a way. He's here and they aren't. They've rotted now, their flesh gone fish-belly white, and swollen, hair and beard like dead grass. White, and then green and black and rotting, and then nothing, bones and dust with living eyes.
"And I escaped. And Masud bought himself a prince's crown. Turned merchant, became this honest man. Think I'd have seem the Dawn before that day, but it's a big fucking world out there."
no subject
"What happened next, is--" His usual prompt is like a thread to follow home, like in the story she'd read to him, once. Out of that box of books he'd brought her. A child's tale. A string tied to a bedpost, and through the mirror, the other land, but as long as the string stayed, there was always a way back. Darras squeezes her hand back, and a little warmth bleeds back in. More like the cottage in the sunshine. Less like the hole.
"It was only a day and we'd worked out an escape. We thought it was an escape. One of Masud's men, bribed, and then double-crossed us, and Masud knew about it, the whole time. He let it all play out just t' make a point. We were caught and-- So we were to be punished, then, as if there was anything worse than being sold. Not killed or beaten, no more'n we'd already been, for daring to escape. Masud was a sadistic bastard. There was this--island, sort of. Not a proper island. All flinty rock, and a hole in it. A cave, more like. The tide would come in and swell in it, from the bottom, fill it nearly up. Waves, crashing down from the top. Then the tide would go out again. Regular, natural. All manner of creatures would come in with it, too, and that's where Masud left us. Bane and Donal and Morton and Jerrick and me. Down there, no food or water, chained and bound. He'd come back for us, he said. When we were done fighting. Only he never did. We told each other he was dead and felt a little warmer for it, but it didn't last. And he wasn't dead. I knew he wasn't dead. Twisted fucking snake. They're the ones who died."
Donal, then Morton, then Jerrick and an hour later, Bane. The clank of their chains is this far-off sound, an echo like they're deep down in that hole and Darras is stood outside. But that's true, isn't it. In a way. He's here and they aren't. They've rotted now, their flesh gone fish-belly white, and swollen, hair and beard like dead grass. White, and then green and black and rotting, and then nothing, bones and dust with living eyes.
"And I escaped. And Masud bought himself a prince's crown. Turned merchant, became this honest man. Think I'd have seem the Dawn before that day, but it's a big fucking world out there."